


First Kisses, by Request

by Trixen



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Pride and Prejudice (2005), Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixen/pseuds/Trixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagining first kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Veronica/Logan

Logan came to see her when he was done talking to the Sheriff – to her father. She was sitting cross-legged by the pool. Each aching point at which at her body touched concrete seemed to resound through her skin.  
  
Logan’s eyes were large, rimmed with poinsettia red. He didn’t have blood on him, around his mouth, as she had heard Duncan did. But he reeked of Lilly’s death.  
  
Her hair spilled over her shoulders. He grasped it, made her scalp hurt. When he kissed her beside the pool, he fell in and the world was underwater. His mouth tasted of brine.   
  
And later, much later—months later, when he hated her, she wondered if it was because when they were in the water, he gasped out _I love you_ and to Logan, love and hate were too closely wed to be pulled apart in his mind.  
  
Her grief was gnawing and his could build skyscrapers.


	2. Veronica/Duncan

Veronica was studying Virginia Woolf when Duncan first kissed her.   
  
He was pushy about it too. Shockingly so. She was lying flat on her belly across Lilly’s bed, pink lipstick on, hair done in two perfect braids. Vague daydreams filled her head, of sweaty fields and maybe Logan -- _no no no_ \-- that was so terribly WRONG that she didn’t know what to even—ANYWAY.   
  
“Hi—Veronica?”  
  
She looked up. “Ohh—hii. Duncan.”  
  
He placed his hands on the tops of her shoulders because that was all he could reach. He was sweating and smelled of baby powder. Medicinal. His fingers lifted her, biting into her skin. She was bony – so gross – and knew it too. Lilly would be back any second. She was getting milkshakes and cheetos – totally and absolutely necessary if they were going to get any work done and WHAT was he doing?   
  
“What are yo—“  
  
He kissed her. Very quickly. She suddenly realized what all the secret looks had meant and all the little notes passed in Advanced Geography and the way he sometimes sort of—pressed up against her in the hallway. Accidentally, yeah right. Ha ha. Veronica smelled her own dampness and thought of sweaty fields and kissed him back for all it was worth, all of her skinny strength, until he buckled.   
  
When she read her textbook later, it said that Virginia had fed the river.


	3. Buffy/Angel

Buffy was pretty sure she was _not_ supposed to be doing this.  
  
Making out with a vampire, or whatever it was she was doing. It felt like _more_ than just making out somehow. It felt like she was coming apart. Her legs were up and splayed. He had his hands hooked beneath her knees so he was holding her open, vulnerable. She felt queasy but excited, like she might puke and cry at the same time.  
  
Library books jostled against her shoulders. Her delicate bones. Giles was sniffling down the aisle four rows down and back, text in one hand, tissue in the other. The others were fast asleep, sprawled out, mouth breathing. And he was hard, so very very hard against the wet pulse between her legs.   
  
She caught his name against her teeth. “Angel—“ and it was a gasp, a keen.  
  
His mouth tasted of animal.


	4. Darcy/Elizabeth

Darcy can taste burnt linseed beneath his tongue. Perhaps it is the agony of desire. His body thrums curiously, as if it is still gripping the stallion for purchase. His fingers smell of candle wax. Staring into the flames, he sees her rosehip mouth and the way her fingers left ten tiny bruises on the cream silk of her robe. For a moment, as he watched her watch herself in the mirror, he had imagined placing his palms just so on her waist. Spreading her legs with one knee and raising that cream silk until it bunched around her thin boyish hips. Being the brute, instead of the gentle nothing shy nothing she had sneered at – spreading those thighs and feeling the stickiness of the pink between them.  
  
If he smeared her mouth against the mirror, left a wet imprint there, if he breathed into the cave of her neck, would she still say no, could she. If she felt his strength, his force, if he plowed her like a hot field, if he was that man to be feared, would her nipples be like pebbles beneath his fingers, would she be like wet silk inside, would her mouth gasp with the _yes_ of it all--?   
  
He discovers later, when he rides back to the small glowing room where he last left her. She is standing with his letter against her lips. They are inky black and he imagines that she licked them, tasted his words. One of her hands is pressed against the slight swell of her belly, just low enough that he wonders. When he strides forward, smelling of the night, of the stars pressing close, of sweat – she does not cower or step back or do anything that suggests she does not want him. So he palms her face, covers her mouth with his hot mouth and feels his words fall from her lips like petals, yes yes _yes_.


End file.
